


and so winter comes

by Minya_Mari



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Arianne is a badass, Arranged Marriage, Arya does what she wants, But I shall try anyway, Cousin Incest, Depending on how you look at it in this fic, Half-Sibling Incest, I suppose, Multi, Multi POV, Post- A Dance With Dragons, Sister-Sister Relationship, There are seriously way to many people to tag them all, be, dunno
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 12:50:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minya_Mari/pseuds/Minya_Mari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Seven Kingdoms of Westoros are broken, and the dragons have come to mend it with fire. But what of those who hold lands that can only be fixed with ice? What of the direwolves of winter? Will they rise once more and claim their seat in the North, scattered as they are?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Overlooked

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! I, uh, kinda hit a writers' block with A Life That Could Have Been, so this is what you'll be getting for a while. But you can always PM or message me on Tumblr with prompts for ficlets of said fanfiction. So, anyway enjoy this and please don't hate me, I'll try to find something for A Life That Could Have Been soon, it's just that my computer is brand-spankn'-new and has yet to be installed with Microsoft Office. *facepalm*  
> Also, I do not own George.R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series, if I did, Winds of Winter would be out by now.

_ Chapter 1: Overlooked. _

* * *

 

Beth the serving girl was a timid thing, so timid in fact that sometimes Arya forgot to be _herself_. Beth was a lowborn girl born to a whore in a tavern of Bravos, a comely enough lass with dark hair and even darker eyes. Arya did not know what she looked like anymore, she had not seen her real face in nigh on six years, and could only conjure something akin to Jon's face as her own when she tried.

Jon Snow, once a girl's bastard half-brother. Now she wasn't quite sure what the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch was to her anymore.

"More drink, m'lord?" Beth asked, flicking her muddy-brown eyes up from the ground and towards the mummers dragon.

Aegon Targaryen's violet eyes met hers a moment before nodding silently. "Yes."  
Beth bowed her head so as to not meet his eyes again as she poured the sweet summer wine into the prince's empty cup. She felt the ghosting touch of his eyes as she stepped back and away from the table, away from him. He was too comely, to much of everything, and though he did not know whom it was she was truly - Arya Stark knew who the mummers dragon was.

She could not afford for him to become important to her, or vice versa. Everyone knew how that turned out for both their houses the last time around.

The Red God had asked for the gift to be bestowed upon him, but that was months ago now, she supposed- she had always been hazy when it came to time-and Beth found that she could not do it. She'd had the perfect aim, perfect posture as she had been poised to end him, and then he'd smiled. It hadn't been directed at her, but it had dazed her no less, still made her heart ache for that which was lost to her.

He looked so much like Jon Snow when he smiled.

And just as quickly, Arya Stark came back, but she couldn't kill the man who looked so much like her brother. So she hadn't.

Instead she'd become a servant, and stayed close and far enough away to observe him, all while being overlooked and underestimated.

The Imp held up a stunted hand. "Mine as well, girl." He called from his raised seat. Beth shuffled over and poured his wine before standing back by the wall. The dwarf's mismatched eyes did not leave her though, as she had wanted them to.

The niggling little voice that sounded so much like her mother warned her, _Whether they be small or tall or comely or ugly, Laninsters are dangerous. Never trust a lion_.

Arya had an inkling that mayhaps Tyrion Lannister was starting to piece together who she was-and if that was the case, he was keeping his information to himself.

 _Clever little Imp._ She thought to herself, a small barely there smirk working its way to her chapped lips. If the little Lannister did know that Arya hid her true face, no doubt he'd try to blackmail her into something. It was what Lannisters did.

Dorne was far too warm for her liking, and if she could've, Arya would not be wearing the damned dresses. But Beth was not Arya of House Stark who could better than her brothers, who hated sewing because she was shit at it. And Beth was not a princess of the North-no, just a bastard girl who would have been a whore if she had not offered her face to the Many-Faced God.

"Beth, was it?" the little lion asked, swirling his wine around, but not a drop spilled.

Arya came back into Beth's skin and hid, the Imp could not know she was here. Who knew what they'd do to her if they did? But Arya Stark-a direwolf-would not be cowed by a little lion man. But for now she would be Beth the bastard of Bravos, and she would simper and bow like how her lowborn status demanded. "Yes, m'lord." Arya replied with just the right amount of hesitance and carefulness in her tone.

The Imp narrowed his mismatched eyes at her form as he studied her. Beth had to pause to keep up her façade and not scowl at the Lannister. "And where did you say you were from?" he questioned casually, though even Beth the serving girl could tell that there was a reason behind it for him to do so. Aegon gave Tyrion a queer look, but did not say anything. Arya did not need him to do so to know that he was wondering what the little Lannister was up to.

Beth blinked and smiled hesitantly. "Bravos, m'lord." She answered, the lilt to her words coming thicker as she told of her birth city. "My mother was a alehouse worker there."

Tyrion nodded, his brows coming together and leaning his head against the palm of his hand. "You're a whore then, too I suppose?"

Arya did not know if it was his tone or if it was the words he used, but her back stiffened and her face flushed red at the insult. She took in a slow breath then released it. "No, m'lord. My maidenhead is still intact."

Tyrion frowned somewhat and rubbed his chin, thinking. For all the secrets Tyrion Lannister kept, he was still as easy to read as all the other men. "How… honourable." The word seemed wrong as it came from his mouth, as if he were surprised Beth was still a maiden.

Beth supposed that it was to be expected, considering her ' _mother's_ ' line of work, but she could not help the words that spilled from her mouth nonetheless. "And, I wonder… what would an Imp-a Lannister Imp no less- know of honour, that I do not?"

Tyrion sat up straighter in his seat. "And what would a bastard brothel girl know of honour, I wonder?"

Arya scowled through Beth's face. "Much more than that of a Lannister, no doubt."

Tyrion let out a surprised laugh. "Clever girl, well said." He muttered.

But Jon Connington did not like her words. Not at all. "He's a Lord, bastard. You'd do well to address him as such."

Beth's mask of cowardice slipped away, and Arya's fire took its' place. "That does not mean-"

He raised his hand, and no doubt meant to hit her, but Aegon's long body was there between them in a flash, his equally long fingers wrapped about Connington's wrist to stop him. "Enough," the prince's voice was low, a warning as much as a threat, and Arya felt a surge of unbidden warmth for him.

Beth couldn't quite see Jon's face over the expanse of Aegon's wide shoulders, but figured it wasn't a pleasant reaction he had to Aegon's intervention. Connington jerked his arm away as if burned, and Beth tapped her fingers along the jug in her hands. "So you are fucking her." Jon accused.

Beth fought the very _Arya_ urge to roll her eyes to the roof, but managed to bite her tongue before causing more of a scene. She saw Aegon's frame give a sigh. "No, father." He moved to sit back down at the head of the table. "I'm to marry Princess Arianne, or did you happen to forget that?"

Jon smirked, and Arya decided she very much disliked the man. "That does not mean you do not whore, Aegon Targaryen."

Beth's mouth set into a thin line and she was tempted to simply run the man through with his own sword-she was certain the satisfaction would be worth them knowing who she truly was. But then Aegon stiffened in his hunched over posture, as if Beth being called a _whore_ irritated him. "There are some women I want only for companionship." He bit out.

Jon Connington quirked his brow. "And what companionship do you have for her, Your Grace? Her cunt?"

Beth tried to calm herself-failed-and cleared her throat. She would not stand there while the tarnished knight smeared the name she'd claimed. "May I be excused, Your Grace?" she bit out hastily, the Bravosi tilt to her voice tweaking her words in unexpected places. Aegon's beautiful eyes widened, but he nodded quickly-his silver-blonde hair moving into his violet orbs as he did. "Forgive Lord Connington, Beth of Bravos. If you would, he has had too much wine and it loosens the tongue."

Beth offered the soon-to-be-king an apologetic smile. "I spoke out of turn, Your Grace, when I should've kept my mouth shut. You needn't apologise. I'll be excusing myself." Beth bowed low once, straightened, and was out of the tent flap silent as a shadow.

**_-x-_ **

"How _dare_ he?" Arya raged to herself in the darkness of the stables. This night had been a clear example as to why she did not want to return to Westoros at all, but, she also supposed that it was only a small price to pay for finding her siblings.

Being called a whore she could deal with, but if any of them touched her...

Her men would be in Westoros soon, all seven thousand of them. So would the little queen, with all her Dothraki, Unsullied and her horse-sized dragons. Beth need only keep her face for a little while longer, then she could do as she pleased.

Arya swung the sword-sized stick she'd found at the rails. "Dead, dead, dead." The branch snapped and Arya cursed softly in Bravosi.

"Might I ask who or what is dead, Beth?" Aegon Targaryen's voice asked from behind her.

Beth turned quick as a snake, the stick forgotten in the dirt by her feet. "N-nothing, Your Grace."

Aegon smiled and leant against the side of the stable. "Now that, I doubt."

Arya scowled at the prince's prodding. Couldn't he just leave her be? No, of course not, he was Aegon Targaryen-the brat prince. "Do you, Your Grace?" Beth asked in a tone that wasn't hers, but Arya's. And Arya hated how bloody breathy it came out.

Aegon did not move from his spot, only crossed his arms over his chest as he cocked his silver head at her. The moon was full that night, and while the darkness of the stables hid Beth's face from the mummers dragon's purple, searching eyes, Arya could quite easily see his form in the moonlight. It bounced off his silver-blonde hair turning the strands white and made the blood-red of his clothes appear as violet as his eyes. It was only when she reached the smirk on his face with eyes that weren't hers that Arya remembered just whom it was she was looking at.

The small smirk turned to a full-blown grin. "See something you like, my lady?"  
Beth's mask turned to a scowl. "I'm not a lady," she responded almost instantly. "And, as a matter o' fact, I don't." She scrunched up her skirts as she went to walk past him and back to the servant's tents, but like the little shit she knew he was, Aegon moved to block her.

Arya's first instinct was to go for the pressure points the waif had taught her to attack, to kill him-he was too close. Beth's was to scream for help, any sort and run.

Then Arya blinked and came back herself, this was Aegon Targaryen, and she knew him better than most would give credit for. He did whore, true-but he would never force himself upon a woman, Arya knew. So she licked her lips and took in a deep breath of the humid air. "Your Grace?"

Aegon's calloused hand came up to cup her face and barely touched her before Arya jerked savagely away. Aegon gave her a queer look at that. "You're a beautiful girl, did you know that?"

Beth swallowed and shook her head quickly, stalling as she tried to come up with some excuse to leave. This was why she made an active effort to not be alone with him, with any man really. The face she wore was pretty, and men liked fucking pretty girls. If only she could have worn her true face-no one would want to get her alone then, not Arya Horse-face, who wasn't nearly as comely as Beth of Bravos. Beth's lips thinned. "All the men that have said that haven't gotten me out of my gown, Your Grace. I don't think you'll manage any better."

Surprise bloomed on his face. "I-it… I did not mean-" he failed about for words, and Beth bit her lip to keep the smile from her face.

"It's quite alright, Your Grace. But if you'd let me past..."

Aegon deftly stepped to the side, a confused look replacing the surprise, as if not quite sure what he was doing in her path to begin with. But before Beth got more than a metre or so away, he asked in a hushed voice. "Who are you really?"

Arya sucked in a breath and froze. "No one of importance, Aegon Targaryen." Beth told him, because it was true, and disappeared into the night without another word.

 


	2. Chapter 2: Sunspear's Beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! :D  
> This is a short chappie, so I'll try to make the next one longer.  
> And a BIG thank you to all those who reviewed, you don't have an idea about how much your comments mean to me and you're all too wonderful. ;D
> 
> Okay? Enjoy! And don't forget to review!  
> (p.s. The song lyrics don't really have anything to do with the chapters, m'kay?)

Arianne Martell was a beautiful woman.  
Dark waves of black tresses hung loose and freely down her back and over her shoulders, stopping just below her breasts. Jewels decorated her tanned throat and wrists, while her form was clad in smooth Myrish silk. The princess seemed to know her beauty bewitched most, and sent the Targaryen prince a charming smile.  
Arya-who still wore Beth's face and would until the Mother of Dragons crossed The Narrow Sea- felt a flush of irritation at Aegon's pleased smile back.  
 _Which is nonsense_ , thought Arya; galled at the fact that she had actually been displeased with the interaction of the two nobles. _I don't care for him other than the fact that he provides me passage to The Riverlands_.

Though this had been something she'd repeated to herself all day, it did not help in the slightest.

Though Arianne played at being warm and inviting, Arya could see that there was a wariness about her, something that screamed she did not want The Golden Company within Sunspear.  
 _In Dorne at all_ , Arya suspected.  
The Dornish princess smiled, her full lips thinning ever so slightly, her eyes hardening a touch. "My prince," she greeted. "I was not told of your venture here, and only heard of it recently."  
The smile fell away, her kohl lined eyes narrowing slightly. "If I'd been so, I would have sent a party to accompany you. Turbulent times, I'm sure you'll agree."  
The words were caring if one did not read into it and find the complaint underneath.  
Arianne Martell did not like being blind-sighted, it seemed much less by a company of ten thousand men that were not under Dorne's control and therefore hers. _Unexpected visits by anyone is a no then_ , Arya thought to herself, amused at what she already knew about the Dornish betrothed of Aegon's.

Beth stood off to the side, out of anyone and everyone's way, next to other servants, and neither Arianne, The Golden Company, nor Aegon paid her any mind.

It surprised her though, that the servants should be allowed in this meeting at all.

Aegon Targaryen seemed to fail about for words for a second. But then, "I apologise for that, my lady." Aegon started, shifting in his stance from one foot to the other. "But we were already at Griffin's Roost and it is barely a day's ride." He paused and offered her a half-smile. "We come asking for a favour, Arianne Martell, Princess of Dorne and Lady of Sunspear."  
This seemed to be what Arianne had been waiting for him to say, for she shifted on her pillows and sat up straighter. "And for what would you ask of me and my lands, Aegon Targaryen?"  
"For men to take King's Landing." Hesitance touched his tone and a worry passed over his sun-kissed face. He did not think she'd give him the men, Arya knew, and that worry was not misplaced. King's Landing would not be taken easily, and if Arya cared for Aegon's cause, she might have told him her true name and the reason she was there in Westoros.  
She might have even given him her men.  
But she didn't trust him, not enough, so she stayed perfectly still and quiet as a mouse on the other side of the room.

A breath passed.

Arianne Martell then smiled. "Of course. You are to be my lord husband, no? You shall have as many men Dorne can spare, but no more than that." Aegon's stance and body language changed to relief and calm, and Arya saw that Connington's changed as well.  
"Thank you," Aegon's tone was as sincere as she had ever heard it.

It made the irritated flush that started in her chest come back with a vengeance.

**_-x-_ **

When they finally left Dorne, four thousand men more added to their company, Arya was glad.

Though she had spent nearly five or so years in Braavos, Dorne was stifling hot despite the winter snows ravaging the northern parts of Westoros, and she having to wear the heavy, clingy dresses of a hand-maid instead of men's clothes was starting to reach a new level of annoyance for her. Arya did not have to walk, and instead sat upon the back of a cart with other 'camp followers'-whores and the like- the rays of sun had long since made her sweat and burned her skin as dark as Aegon's.  
They stopped at Cider Hall, where one of the men was greeted heartily enough. Though they did not stay long at all before continuing onward to Storm's End, long since in Aegon Targaryen's power. She was sure that she'd slept most of ride there, but kept to herself and did not speak with the other women in the cart at all, did not ask just where it was they were headed, where they were now.  
Arya already knew. She knew, she _remembered_ what the Smallwood's lands looked like.  
And suddenly she did not want to be anywhere near Westoros, near the Brotherhood Without Banners, but also wanted to know if the rumours of The Lady Stoneheart were true, if Thoros of Myr had truly given her poor dead lady mother The Kiss.  
And Arya Stark truly felt _fear._ A sharp stabbing thing that felt much akin to anxiousness she felt at facing that which she'd left behind _._ The _people_ she'd all but forgotten.  
But she also felt a slow, burning anger that had been building since that horrible day five years ago at King's Landing when her father's head had been lopped off and sweet, perfect, _gentle_ Sansa had been screaming. Arya missed her sister, and decided that once the little queen crossed the sea that she would pay a visit to The Eyrie and place Sansa in their brother's seat.  
Arya had the men, Sansa had the mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'I remember tears streaming down your face  
> When I said, I'll never let you go  
> When all those shadows almost killed your light  
> I remember you said, Don't leave me here alone  
> But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight' ~ Safe & Sound, Taylor Swift feat Civil Wars.
> 
> p.p.s~ You know what to do! Give me your thoughts, as this is very much a work in progress and I might change it depending on what you tell me.


	3. Acorn Hall Once More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting to surprise myself. I can finish something by a set date.  
> But I have shitloads of homework (even though I only just started school again, two days ago) that I have to finish so this'll be the only update you guys will be getting for a few days, okay? (unless, of course, I get sick of doing said homework and get struck with an idea for the next chapter).
> 
> As I said last chapter, still a work in progress, people. Your opinions matter here, okay?  
> Also, I may even put some Gendrya in the next chapter, eh? *waggles eyebrows*

House Smallwood's seat was bustling with activity with the arrival of a few hundred of the Golden Company. Jon Connington lead the rest to Harrenhall, the Lannisters did not occupy it, so there was an opening they may not have gotten again, and he took it.

Though Arya could see flaws in their plans-leaving your liege lord with only three hundred of his men would leave him open for attacks of all sorts-she understood the pressing need to have as much land under control before the final siege on King's Landing.

Arya was certain that Tyrion had figured her out, or was at least very nearly there. Subtle things gave away the knowledge he held, and though he was stunted-Tyrion Lannister was no fool. He would soon, if he had not already, and she would have to

But they were not his mismatch-coloured eyes that followed her now, instead the violet of the soon-to-be-king.

Aegon was far too trusting, Arya had long since figured out that tid-bit out. Even since he'd asked her who she truly was-and she hadn't answered as of yet-he still showed an amazing amount of preference for her company over some of the others. But he was starting to wonder, starting to form ideas on who she really was as well, she was sure.

In all practicality though, he'd be far from the mark.

Arya was outside, nosing around the forge when she heard horses coming up the road. She stepped out of the smithy as quickly and quietly as she could, but was spotted nonetheless. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why the bloody hells did I go there the first place?_

"You, girl! Come stable these 'ere horses!" A gruff looking man hollered as he dismounted his black stallion and handed the reins to her.

Arya groped them clumsily and scowled at her hands. "Of course, ser." Other servants from Acorn Hall were helping the squires stable the knight's mounts in the stalls. _The Brotherhood was expected then_. "Beth, what are you-" Aegon's words were cut short as he took in the man and his companions. Arya gave him an exasperated look and he managed a smile, more than he'd done the past week most likely. She turned her attention from him and passed the horse on to someone else. Beth skittered back to where she'd been before when the horses started walking past.

Arya had grown taller since she was little-as people are won't to do- but horses could easily barge her out of the way if their handlers did not see her.

Arya glanced around them all, hoping to find a familiar face. A mop of pale blonde curls and deep, purple eyes.

Edric Dayne. And he looked directly at her, a curious look passed through his eyes even, but then his attention was drawn elsewhere. He did not recognise her, and she did not expect him to.

Tyrion's quiet voice came from her side. "You know him?"

Arya glanced down with a frown. "I know _of_ him, I met him when he was a boy," she grinned at The Imp. "Even managed to make another boy jealous, now that I think on it. But no," Arya licked her chapped lips and felt the sting as her tongue passed over cuts still healing. "I don't know Edric Dayne _now_."

Tyrion nodded. "Hmm… you remind me of a little girl I _knew of_ years ago."

Beth's dark eyes flashed. "And, pray tell, m'lord, who was this girl?" Tyrion Lannister caught the warning in her eyes, and greeted it with a small, smug smile, planting himself on the nearest seat before he spoke. "A fierce little she-wolf. A Stark, one of the few left, you know. And she, in turn, reminded me of her aunt, long perished during the lousy, old king Robert's rebellion." Tyrion lifted the wineskin he'd brought with him to his lips and drew on it before offering it to her. "Drink?"

Beth took it, and schooled her face into an unreadable mask. After downing two mouthfuls, she passed the wineskin back to him.

A beat passed.

The men were led into the hall, leaving them alone save for the quiet shuffling here and there of the servants tending to the horses.

"You know." Beth stated calmly, her black eyes tracking Aegon's body walking away.

Tyrion chuckled, but his voice as he spoke next came out in a hushed whisper. "Indeed I do, little wolf." All pretence gone, Arya glared at the little man. "How?" "I've gotten to know you somewhat these past two years, my lady-no doubt as you've gotten to know me-but only recently did I realise just whom it was you were." Tyrion murmured, and shifted on the wooden chair. "But what I _would_ like to know is, just where have you been? Why did you not claim your brother's seat sooner?"

Beth's dark eyes took on a look of steel, and she bit out, "You won't tell a soul of who I am, am I clear?" Tyrion smirked. "I will if you tell me true." A thought passed through her mind to tell him. Another told her that she could not trust him with that information. Not many knew of the House of Black and White, not many knew of The Faceless Men, and Arya wasn't about to go running her mouth on matters best kept secret.

So, instead. "Where whores go, of course." She told him, knowing he'd catch eagerly what she'd thrown at him.

Arya was not disappointed nor was she wrong.

Tyrion's mismatched eyes widened at the familiar phrase, and she could see surprise flicker there, and trepidation too. "What do you mean?" he asked stiffly. She turned on her heel and did not grace him with an answer.

**_-x-_ **

Arya was not actively looking for him when she met his eyes across the hall.

So blue it saddened her a moment.

Gendry.

Then anger and regret took its place. _Ser Gendry Waters of Hollow Hill, if I was speaking true_. Arya thought bitterly.

Unlike Edric, though, Gendry's eyes lingered on hers, as if he were trying to place where he'd seen her before. A small half-smile formed upon her lips as she noticed and remembered the face he was pulling from their travels together. He was thinking, something he used to do often-surprisingly-despite all the stupid things he'd done and said. He'd been part of her pack, and though now she understood why he'd wanted to be a knight-being a bastard knight and having the title 'ser' before your name was better than just being a bastard-he'd still left her. He'd been the one person who hadn't left her… and then he had.

Arya took in a breath and dispelled the thoughts before heeding the call of a man for more drink. She pretended to not feel Gendry's eyes trail fire up her neck and curves, in fact she pretended that he did not exist at all.

Arya did not notice Tyrion's gaze past between the two more than once as he tried to place why the bastard knight's blue gaze seemed to intensify the more Beth did not pay him any mind. She only served the Brotherhood food and drink and shut off her feelings as she had been taught to do before killing.

Not that she planned on killing anyone tonight, of course.

Just that emotions she did not expect to feel came rushing into her mind whenever she snuck glances at the bastard blacksmith, ones that she did not want to process that night.

Aegon Targaryen seemed to get along famously with Lem Lemoncloak, something that had both Arya and Tyrion blinking at as the night passed on.

"So you're sure he does not prefer men to women?" Tyrion slurred to her, pointing to Lem who spoke with Aegon across the table.

Beth let out a tinkling laugh, then stopped short. "You know what? I'm not too sure."

Tyrion rested his stubby elbows on the wooden table top. "Because, if I'm not mistaken, he looks to fancy our Aegon just a bit too much."

Beth watched the interaction, and sure enough, there was just a little too much touching, too much laughing coming from Lem that had her laughing once more. "Mayhaps Lem has had too much to drink?" Arya started, but one look from The Imp had her doubting her own words. She nodded her head side to side as she weighed it, then, with a mischievous smile said, "Well, Aegon is awfully pretty, it'd be easy to mistake him for a woman."

Tyrion smirked and ran a hand over where his nose should have been. "What we're discussing could be offensive to _'the crown'_ , my lady, and therefore could be treason." He did not seemed to care at all, but instead turned to watch the two, resting his temple on a closed fist. "But what you say could be part of it. Particularly with as much alcohol he's had, most defiantly."

That had them falling into warm laughter once more.

"That Robert look-a-like has been staring over here the past hour, and I do not think it is because of _my_ dashing good looks, my lady." Tyrion told her, the drunk little smirk returning.

Arya gave him a look, eyes that weren't hers narrowing. "He will not know me," her voice came out much quieter than she'd intended, much _sadder_. "But you know him?" Arya was not sure if it was because she was beginning to trust him, or if it was the wine. But she nodded curtly once, then blinked, not quite sure why she had.

"Oh, a childhood love? Was he the one you spoke of before?" Arya snorted. "You're worse than a fishmonger's wife, with all your questions."

Tyrion brought his wineskin to his lips, but when no wine came, he shook his head mournfully. "It's all gone," Arya gave him a bemused smile. "I should expect so."

He placed the wineskin back on the table top. "But you still haven't answered me for the many a questions I've asked, my lady."

Beth's face scrunched up in a scowl. "And I won't, my lord," she muttered back. "I _do_ like to keep some secrets about me, you know."

Tyrion nodded. "Of course, of course…"

Arya sighed, and raked a hand through her tangled, dark hair. "But I suppose it couldn't hurt..." she muttered to him. "Fine. He was the one person that hadn't been taken from me, and then he left to become a bloody knight. He left me for a fucking title."

Tyrion brow quirked. "And where do whores go, if I may ask?" Arya stopped short. "Happy Port," she told him quietly, so quiet that the ruckus about them almost drowned her words out. "Your wife was there." Tyrion shifted closer to her. "Tysha?" Arya shrugged. "She was not going by that name when I first met her, but I suspected… she has a daughter by the name of Lanna." She turned her eyes to the ceiling, lost in thought. "She's a beauty, same age as me nearly. Blonde hair and green eyes, so you can see why she has the name."

Tyrion had gone surprisingly pale beside her. Arya continued, ignoring the silence of her companion. "I asked... what did you say her name was?" "Tysha," he supplied the name in a very quiet voice, but Arya heard him nonetheless.

"Tysha." she repeated, committing the name to memory. "I asked Tysha why Lanna looked so much like a Lannister once," she smiled at Tyrion calmly. "She said it was because Lanna's father was a _lord_ in Westeros. 'A lion,' she said."

Arya rose from her seat. "The Sailor's Wife marries every man she beds, so that none of her children are bastards… but as far as I know, Lanna is the only child she has ever bore." She placed her empty cup on the bench and turned away, back to the servant's quarters. "Good night, Tyrion Lannister."

A small smile touched his mangled face. "And to you as well, Beth of Braavos. Thank you."


	4. The Smithy

Arya, of course, did not go straight to where she had intended. She went to the smithy.

It was empty still, and Arya thought that mayhaps Lord and Lady Smallwood did not have a blacksmith.

All was quiet and dark save for a few of the dogs howling and torches placed here and there, and though Arya had been taught to use her eyes better than most, she could not see a well as she'd have liked.

But she could still hear.

The man behind her wasn't as quiet as he thought.

"What are you doing in here?" his voice was rough and deep, familiar but different. Arya turned slowly, her eyes rolling.

"One could ask the same of you, ser." Gendry stood a few feet from the doorway of the smithy, arms crossed and head cocked. Arya turned back to the dead ambers. "Does _anyone_ smith here?" she asked in a bored tone.

"Pardon?"

Arya pursed her lips. "Not one person has used this smithy since I've been here." She stated, running a hand over the edge stones that lined the forge, long since turned cold.

"Was that a question, m'lady?"

Arya scowled at him, and the answer tumbled out of her mouth without her consent. "No, stupid. And I'm not a lady."

Gendry frowned, and did not say anything for a moment.

Arya frowned right along with him; why had she done that?

"Do… I know you?" he asked, standing up straighter and looked at her hard.

He couldn't know, could he? No, he was just wondering if he'd bedded Beth at some point in time, no doubt.

Her voice was abrupt and curt as she said, "No."

He took a step closer, and though that still put nearly five feet between them, Arya took an unsteady pace back.

Gendry shook his dark head, the black tresses had grown to reach just below his chin, where they'd been shorter last she'd seen him. "I'm certain I've seen you before."

Arya snorted. "Then you're obviously stupider than I thought." She moved to walk past him, but a strong hand shot out and grasped her upper arm. Arya writhed in his grip, but he only held her to keep her from leaving, and when his other hand- giant compared to her, still- came up hesitantly to cup her face, she stilled.

"Who are you?" his voice broke half-way through saying the words, and Arya's heart hammered at the closeness of him.

"I- No one." She was sure her mask slipped then, that the eyes he saw glaring at his own were grey.

Gendry narrowed his eyes. "You're lying," he muttered back. "I _know_ you."

Arya jerked her head away and tugged back on his grip of her arm, testing it. "No, you don't! I've never met you before in my life!" Arya was sorely tempted to shove her foot between his legs, but did not want to draw attention to their situation. "Now let go of me!" she snarled quietly, jerking against his hold again. Gods he was strong.

"Not until you tell me,"

"I'll scream."

"Please," his voice broke. "Just tell me you're her."

Arya heard the pain there, a sadness that leaked into his blue, blue eyes as he spoke. Was he talking about _Arya_?

He let her go, his eyes pleading and his face open. This man was not the bastard boy Arya had met seven years ago, he was different and the same all at once. But now Gendry reminded Arya more of the old, fat king than he did when he was littler, if there ever was a time.

Beth shook her head. "I can't,"

Gendry's eyes widened. "Arya?"

Arya growled through Beth's mask, she couldn't very well convince him that she wasn't herself now, Gendry was stubborn as a bull on the best of days. "No, you stupid. Weren't you listening?"

Maybe her retort did not help her case much neither.

"Why do you look like this? Where have you been?" he asked quickly, the words coming out slightly slurred.

"You're drunk," she started, stepping away from him and his questions. "I think it'd be best if I retired to my chambers, ser. And you return to the feast." Arya's words were clipped and devoid of any emotion.

Gendry's eyes hardened to ice. "Oh no you don'." He reached for her and Arya had nowhere to run. His hands were almost big enough to encircle her whole waist, and they burned a warm fire through the material of her dress.

"Let me go!"

"No!"

Arya stuck one foot on Gendry's and used her other leg to catch the back of his knee--tripping him. But she wasn't quick enough to slip fully out of his arms, and she tumbled down with him. Arya let out a disgruntled huff of breath and sat up, bracing her weight on Gendry's shoulders gingerly. "Why'd you go and do that for, stupid?"

Gendry grinned a warm, albeit a little drunk, smile. "You were going to run, _m'lady_. Couldn't have that, I still have questions, you know."

Beth's eyes rolled to the skies before narrowing on his. "And what would they be, _ser_?"

"Why aren't you wearing your face? I mean, I _know_ it's you, Arry. I'd know you anywhere, but how are you not _you_?"

Arya caught his use of her old name, but it didn't sound like a boy's name anymore. It sounded like a nick-name, like when Jon use to call her 'little sister' instead of Arya, or even when Sansa used to tag 'Horseface' at the end.

She missed Jon. And Needle, the sword he'd given her before he'd left for the Wall. She'd left it to Mikael to care for until he crossed with the rest of her men.

Arya pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. "Do you remember J'aqen H'ghar?" she asked, and when he nodded a little uncertainly, she moved to shift off of him. Gendry's fingers tightened on her waist and she stopped. "Well, he gave me a coin and a saying before he left," she told him and wriggled out of his grasp. She crossed her arms as she got to her feet. "When I got away from The Hound, I was already in The Salt Pans, so I boarded a ship using the coin and the words _Valar_ _Morgulas_." Gendry clearly did not know what to make of that, bitting the inside of his cheek as he stood.

"Why didn't you come back?" he asked, something touching his tone; regret? Anger, maybe? Arya couldn't quite tell.

She snorted. "Harwin and the rest were going to ransom me, stupid!" Arya threw her hands up as if to emphasise her point. "And I didn't exactly have time to scribble down a note and acquire a raven that knew wherever the damned Brotherhood had shuffled off to, not when I was running for my life, now did I?"

Gendry scowled. "Gendry." He said in a flat tone.

Arya blinked. "What?"

"You used to call me _Gendry_ ; my name, remember? Not 'Ser Waters' or 'Stupid'. Just Gendry."

Arya felt a curious sort of detachment flow over her. "That is a familiarity that I can't afford at this point in time, Ser Waters." She told him in a calm voice; quiet, controlled, and he stopped when she turned from him. "But, mayhaps when all this is over and I hold the North with my siblings, maybe you could still smith for us in Winterfell."

Gendry blue eyes showed confusion, but he asked in much quieter voice, "Your siblings? They're alive?"

A mirthless smirk graced her pale face. "Of course," she told him and paused in the archway of the smithy. "We Starks are hard to kill, or haven't you heard?"

Gendry's mouth turned down. "So are Targaryens, I hear."

Arya ignored the irritation in his tone. "Just so," she said with a nod. "As it is, Lions and Stags have done the realm enough damage," she glanced up at the sky; no stars shined that night, the clouds smothering them. "One would suppose that it is a good thing Dragons are not so easily killed as Stags."

She felt and heard him stand behind her rather than saw, though she could've used a cat's eyes. The tomcat sat in the corner of the forge, contently munching on a rat he'd caught, completely ignoring her and Gendry all together.

Arya turned around, and had to raise her chin to meet his eyes. Why did he have to be so bloody tall? "If I were to ask it of you," she started, and held his eyes as she spoke, "would you leave the Brotherhood and help me fight?"

Gendry did not even blink, only nodded stiffly and offered her a small, half-smile that made her stomach flutter. "Of course, m'lady high."

There was no jesting in his tone, only sincerity, but Arya shoved him anyway.


	5. The Lady Stoneheart

 

**_Chapter 5: The Lady Stoneheart_ **

The fact that one of Harwin's knights had begun to follow Beth about had not gone unnoticed. Arya did not pay much mind to those who talked, and had kept mostly to herself since the Brotherhood had come to Acorn Hall.

She needed to plan.

If what the Little Queen and she had agreed on still stood, Daenerys would land near Storm's End within a moon's turn. Arya needed to be there before that.

Howling sounded far off, and Arya smiled. Wolves had begun to sing during the day, and it put the men off some.

Aegon was still stupidly ignorant, but Arya was nearly certain that by now it was by choice. Said king was practicing sword-play, and winning each round.

Aegon glanced over to her, and Arya schooled her face into a smile. "Well done, your grace." She said, ducking her head and flicking her eyes to Gendry at the forge. The two shared a secret smile. Gendry rolled his eyes and went back to hammering a breastplate. Arya grinned. She turned from the courtyard under the pretence to get more water.

Jon Connington had returned from Harrenhal the night before last-a day after Gendry had figured her out- and Arya had heard Connington and Aegon both speaking of the Night's Watch. So Arya was soon going to travel to Storm's End, company or no.

But it was minor compared to what Arya was slipping away to do.

Just two of the tents that were situated outside the walls were as red as Thoros of Myr's robes, and Arya knew automatically that it would be one of those that she should search for her mother in.

Arya stepped quietly as a ghost into the red tent closest to her, but she doubted that even if she'd been stepping as softly as a cat they'd have noticed her entrance anyway. Edric Dayne was the one she bumped into, and his hands came out to steady her quickly, though she did not need it.

"What are you?" a voice asked, but it wasn't Ned's.

Arya glared over at Harwin and Thoros of Myr. "A direwolf." She snapped back at the red priest.

"My children are all dead." A voice rasped painfully.

Arya wasn't sure what she was looking upon, but she knew that at some point this creature would have been her mother. Lovely red hair framed her deathly pale face, and a ghastly tear opened her throat, but one of her gnarled hands held it closed as she spoke.

Tears stung at Arya's eyes, and she let her mask slip. "Dear mother," she started. Arya ran a hand over her face and felt it morph into one that was familiar and strange all at once. She watched as the hair that sat around her shoulders lightened to a rich brown and curled. "Not all of your pups are gone." Even her voice was different. Deeper in a way; huskier, rough. But still accented with the Braavosi lit.

The Lady made a sad sound, a gurgle of a sob. "Arya," she managed.

"But you are not my mother. You're an imitation, nothing more. You should not have left father and Robb."

With that said, Arya of House Stark turned on her heel and stalked silently from the Red Priest's tent.

-x-

 _She is beautiful_ , he thought. _Beautiful and_ wild.

This wild woman with dark, tangled hair was long of face; her high cheekbones shadowing her pale cheeks and making her look more serious than one of her age should have. Her eyes were steely grey, glaring at him from across the table where she stood, motionless.

Aegon heard Ashara gasp as if in pain and jerked his eyes away from the mysterious girl. "What is it?" he asked, and Jon drew his sword.

Ashara blinked. "Lady Ly-Lyanna?"

"How is it that you got in here, girl?" Lord Connington demanded. The girl snorted, a small smile touching her features, making her appear kinder, prettier if it were possible.

"No." She told Ashara softly, gently; as if she knew just who Aegon's septa was. "But I am a Stark. One of the few left, you see." She shrugged, the curls that framed her pretty, lean face rising with her shoulders. "My father told me I looked like aunt Lyanna, though. Once, long ago."

Aegon noticed that she did not even grace Jon with a glance of her grey orbs, her attention on the others of the war-tent.

Tyrion grinned at her. "My lady." He muttered, amused. "You nearly outshine your lady sister."

The girl pursed her lips, and Aegon had the feeling that she wasn't one that accepted flattery easily. If at all. But whoever her sister was, he had no doubt that this girl was divine compared.

The girl turned her eyes from the Imp and back onto Aegon. "Don't recognise me, Your Grace?" she flicked her eyes back to Tyrion and shared a secret smile that he obviously wasn't privy to. "Mores the pity for you, then. I've been told by many that I'm quite remarkable."

He frowned. "Beth?"

The girl's smile returned, but it looked very much vulpine. "No, not quite," she told him.

Ashara's hand touched her mouth. "You're Ned's youngest. Arya Stark."

Arya grinned wolfishly.

**-x-x-**

Gendry was called to Thoros's tent, and the Red priest glowered at him from over the flames. Gendry paused, he didn't trust Thoros of Myr on the best of days, and even less when the Red priest was angered over something.

"You wanted me?"

Thoros nodded, and gestured for Gendry to take a seat. Harwin and Ned Dayne were both there, too. After a moment, Thoros spoke. "Why did you not tell us?"

Gendry shifted in his spot. And even though he knew it had something to do with Arya's appearance in Acorn Hall, he instead said, "Tell you what?"

Harwin scowled. "Don't play stupid with me, boy."

Gendry sighed, and opened his mouth, but the tent flap was pushed inward. A woman clad in men's clothes stood there, dark hair draped over one shoulder and reaching past the swell of her teats. All long limbs with lean muscle, and, even in pants and a man's tunic, Gendry could make out the flair of her hips, the swell of her breasts. There was something hard about her face now that it was _hers_ , her grey eyes like stone, but he saw a flicker of recognition in her features as their eyes met.

"Arya," he breathed, and she grinned at him.

" _Ser_." She acknowledged, a teasing lit to her tone before she turned her eyes on Harwin and Thoros. "And he's not _playing_ stupid. That much is obvious, isn't it?"

It was a jape at his expense, but found that he did not care much.

She waved her hand when Thoros went to speak, indicated with a finger that Gendry should stand come to her. And, as he did when they were both younger, he followed. He stood beside her tiny form-though she'd grown from the slip of a girl she'd been at ten- and waited for her to speak.

"Lord Harwin," she started, a lace of authority slipping into her tone. "Since you now serve my mother-" Thoros of Myr shook his head and interrupted. "The Lady Stoneheart asked that I reascend The Kiss." He told her, and Arya paused, flicked her eyes to the flames.

Then, after a beat. "Did she say why?" "She was content to know her children were alive, she didn't want it anymore." Thoros ran his hand over the flames, and for a second, Gendry thought that he saw something in them. "The Lady said we were to follow you." Thoros told her, dark eyes guarded.

Harwin stepped forward, and Ned watched with obvious curiosity. "Do you want us?" the old man asked.

He watched as Arya Stark cocked her head to the side like a crow would at something shinny. "I do."

 


	6. Chapter 6

_He was hunting, far from the ice-wall and the traitorous men clad in black. A cry came from the south; his sister's cry,  he could feel it through the bond they shared, and Ghost called back to her. He knew though, that his wild sister would not make an effort to find him. Nymeria, as her equally wild girl had so named her, was content in the Riverlands, acting as queen of their little cousins there._

_His ears flicked back as he heard also the patting of hooves,much, much closer, and the scent of man-fear. Ghost flicked his blood-red eyes up and saw a man astride a rearing horse and beared his teeth in threat. He growled and leapt for the beast's throat._

 

Jon Snow jerked awake, and felt warmth seep into his bones of the small fire in his chambers. It was almost as warm as the fire had been when the Freefolk had tried to burn him. He'd still been alive, in a way, and dead in others. The Nightswatchmen had been confused just as much; was he a wight? Something that died should not be able to converse with you, if it could ever do so. And there were plently of dead men that couldn't.

He'd somehow slipped into Ghost's skin that night, and he'd all but killed those responsible for his state with tooth and claw. Jon had felt his sibling's minds at the edge of his own, a strange feeling. Strange and comforting. Little Arya was there, but she was different, she'd changed from the brash, fun-loving little thing he'd known to something darker. But that couldn't have been right, Arya had died. The rest of their figures, Bran, Rickon, and Sansa were all blurred together, making Arya's the only one distinct.  
He figured it'd be because Lady was dead, Shaggydog was whereever Rickon had wandered off to, and if the dreams spoke true, Bran's wolf was beyond the Wall with his master.   
Nymeria was the only one still in Westeros, the only one south of the Wall. The closest sibling that Ghost had.

He'd woken up with the taste of blood in his mouth on more than one night since.

**_-x-x-_ **

Daenerys Stormborn did not particularly like the ships her love had given her. The fact that she'd made a pact with the Stark queen had meant that she'd need more ships, but said queen had pledged herself to Daenerys' cause; so it was better for her claim in the long-run.

The ships were sea-worthy, and were exactly what she needed; but she'd have preferred to have ridden to Westoros on dragon-back. But it was no matter; her fleet would be arriving in Shipbreaker Bay within a day and a night. Her children flew overhead, screeching and roaring as they batted each other with their jewelled wings.

Drogon flew lowest of the three, searching for her on the deck of the ship. At one point he flew close enough that Daenerys had glided her fingers along the warm scales of his black-red wings as he went past.

She could tell from his constant circling during the hours of light that he was restless, and craved more.

 _More of what, though?_ She thought to herself.

There was nothing for him to burn out here, on the blue, blue waves of the Narrow Sea. Well, nothing except for the ships that carried Dany; and Drogon would not burn them so long as it was commanded of him. There were plenty of fish for her dragons to catch, and they had stolen a few goats that had managed to get on deck, though the men hadn't liked that.

And when land first came into view, her heart raced and cried and wept. Daenerys could vaguely make out the lining of Storm's End, leagues away. Her children wailed their own song at the sight of land, and disappeared above the clouds as they flew to Storm's End.

Daenerys of House Targaryen was finally home.

**_-x-x-x-_ **

Arya was pleased with the turn of events.

She'd managed to acquire another small army, if the Brotherhood could be classed as such, and Storm's End was within sight. Though why Aegon had chosen to follow her _south_ , when his path was set _north_ puzzled her some-but, when she squinted her eyes to glimpse further, she saw the smoke that rose from the lands surrounding it. And creatures that could only be described as gems twisting in and out of the smog the flames created.

"Dragons," she breathed. Aegon pulled up next to her, his horse bayed at the smell of death and smoke, and his eyes widened as he took in the sight of the Valyrian demons raising Storm's End to the ground.

"For true?" he asked, eyes flicking briefly from the chaos ahead of them to her face.

Arya nodded. "For true." She answered slowly, drawling her words in a way that would be taken as an insult.

To his credit, Aegon didn't bite at her words, only grinned at her teasing. "Are they my aunt's?" he asked.

Arya rolled her eyes to the now grey sky. "Mayhaps," she drawled once more. "Though somehow I doubt that she'll see you in a similar light." She pushed a lock of hair from her eyes with a flick of her wrist. "Besides, how am I to know? You're a smart boy; how many dragons do you think this world holds at the moment?"

Aegon shifted in his saddle and the horses around them nickered nervously as the dragons came closer. "Surely enough for one such as you to know to whom they belong, my lady."

She bristled. "Do I look like a lady, _Your_ _Grace_?" she bit out. Arya watched as his eyes roamed over her form, from her messy braid to her loose-fitting armour and then to the rapier on her hip.

"No, not exactly, _my_ _lady_."

He'd said it on purpose, with the intent to rile her; and it'd worked. Arya growled.

" _I'm not your lady_." She spat in Braavosi and kicked her heels against her white stallion's flanks. The horse belted down the small hill the company had stopped upon, and down to where the Baratheon soldiers were vainly trying to defend Storm's End against the three dragons, her sword drawn.

 _Stannis Baratheon has sent forces to take it back_. Arya thought dryly. _He's going to need more men than he can spare_.

Arya thought as she saw the sigil the pretender had taken on the chests of hundreds of men and boys. She'd dismounted her horse at some point during the battle, and hadn't killed a man yet. Arya was trying to get past the main hoard of soldiers to get to the coast, to Daenerys Stormborn  and her ships and get her to call off the demons she called her children. Men were burning around her, and the smell of melting flesh wasn't one she revelled in.

"Arya!"

Arya turned at the call of her name, and narrowly missed being cleaved in half by a brutish-looking man. The way he smiled at the brief fear she felt made her think, _This is what happens to a man who has nothing, no one but the battles his lord sends him to_. Blood had since turned the dirt beneath her boots to a thick sludge, and her foot slipped, making her lose what small balance she had left.

Arya landed on her back in the mud, her head hitting something hard and making her see stars before she blinked them away. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_!

She saw Gendry's look of surprise that turned quickly to fear for her. But he was still fighting two other men, war hammer in hand; he couldn't help her. Arya's attention was drawn back to her opponent as he lifted his great-sword and just as he began to swing it, she rolled up into a crouch. The sword came down right where her chest had been.

"Fuck me." She swore and the man swung for her again. Arya skipped out of the way easily, but she had nothing but two daggers to fight back with, those or her limbs; having lost the sword that had been given to her.

A screech rang out overhead, and the man flicked his dark eyes upwards; to the dragon that landed on his chest. Arya was quite sure he was dead before the dragon even got its jaws around him, he just didn't know it. The white dragon, the one Arya never paid much mind to in her meetings with the little queen. It was the one that saved her, or was looking for a suitable meal and found it in the man. It did not matter much to her,what mattered to her at the moment was only that she was alive.

Up close, the dragon would have easily been six horses length wise, from snout to tail; and it tore the man apart with two snaps of its bloody jaws. All the men around the dragon stilled, and she heard Gendry call for her again. Viserion-that was what Daenerys had named the beast- twisted his head to glare curiously at her with two molten-gold orbs.

 _Intelligent, like Ghost's_. Arya did not know why that thought decided to make itself known, but she pushed it savagely away and sucked in a breath as Viserion finally rested his wing-arms on the ground. He wailed out a song and his brothers answered far-off, before moving closer to Arya.

She considered warging into the beast, to be certain it wouldn't eat her as it had the man. Then she remembered why she'd been anywhere near where he'd landed.

Arya backed up slowly, and ran into the crowd.

**_-x-x-x-x-_ **

She could hear the dragon scream as he lost sight of her, heard the beat of his wings as he took to the skies once more.

She managed to dodge quite a few blows that may or mightn't have been directed at her, until one got her good on the shoulder; so hard she was winded when she hit the ground.

Arya Stark was skilled fighter, but she was still small and a woman. The man's face was plastered with shock, he hadn't meant to hit her, a _woman_.  
She could practically see it on his face: _What was a woman doing out in the field anyway?_

She couldn't help it, and through her pain, anger pricked at her pride. It was her left side that'd been hit, her left shoulder and her sword-hand. She was beginning to bleed out, the sword having sliced through her chain-mail and deep into flesh. _Fear cuts deeper than swords_. _Fear cuts deeper than swords_. _The man who fears death has already lost_.

"C'mon Arry. Get up." Gendry told her, and with one powerful swing of his war hammer, knocked the man off of his feet. The soldier's helmet crumpled into his face on the impact of the hammer, and Gendry's huge hands were on her waist, helping her to her feet. She cried out when he faintly touched the wound, and saw emotions playing across his features until it settled on fear. "Arya-" She shook her head and jerked away from him.

"After, okay? I'll get it seen to after." Arya gestured to where ships were moored on the docks with her uninjured hand. "I have to find Daenerys Targaryen first. Come."

Then she ran as fast as her feet would carry her, trusting Gendry to be able enough to follow. "Where?" he asked, breath heavy.

"Coast." Arya managed. They were away from the main battle, but even still, the yells and screams of battle were loud, muddling her words.

"Ghost?" he asked, confusion creasing his brow. Arya managed a laugh, and regretted it when her shoulder protested. She turned back to look at him and saw the fighting happening at his back; it wasn't very big--not that many of her men were ordered to participate--but those few that were, were making a show of it.

" _Coast_." She repeated, louder this time, just as three Baratheon soldiers decided now would be a good time to appear. "Do the gods hate me?" she asked, a touch of irony in her tone.

Gendry shook his head, as if weighing it up in his mind. "Maybe," he allowed.

But no sooner had the soldiers taken two steps towards them, were they confronted by Dothraki men. Well, three Dothraki and a man Arya recognised as Mhaegar.   
_We must be closer to the moors than I first thought_ , Arya considered as she watched the Faceless Man smile.

The soldiers were quickly felled, and Arya grinned back at him. " _You have my thanks_!" she called in Bastard Valyrian to the Dothraki, and if they belonged to Daenerys Stormborn, no doubt she'd have taught some words of Valyrian to them, and they murmured phrases back.

Mhaegar cocked his head to the side as he approached. "A girl should be more careful." He told her as he eyed her shoulder.

Arya scowled. "It's not as if I've done it on purpose."   
Though his face had changed when sh had found him years ago in the ruin of Old Valyria, Arya also found that he purposefully kept his manerisms the same. The way he held himself, the way he smiled. This was the man who had once held the face of Jaqen H'ghar.

Dragons screeched loudly then, and brilliant, red-black flames lightened the sky.

And everything went silent. Everything but for the screams of men as they burned.


	7. Chapter 7

 

The world was starting to spin, Arya realised. She used Gendry's arm to keep on her feet as she walked; he seemed to know, and did not comment at all as she took whatever strength he gave. _The fighting has stopped_ , she thought. _But I can still hear them screaming_.

The fighting _had_ stopped, and now only the sound of dragons flying was what took up the night.

When they finally found the ship Daenerys was supposed to be on, the sky had darkened to black. She had not fought alongside her men, and from what Arya could remember the little queen being able to do, she knew that though Daenerys commanded respect, fighting was not one of her strong points.

Daenerys Targaryen was as beautiful as Arya remembered her to be, a sort of beauty that reminded Arya of her mother, and of Sansa.

"Your Grace," Arya said, all mockery kept from her voice, wincing as she tried to bow; the armour dragging against her sore shoulder. Arya could feel her blood running down her back and arm; thick and warm.

Daenerys's purple eyes widened, and her hands fluttered about before resting on Arya's good side; stopping her. "No, my friend. You needn't bow."

Arya chuckled. "I doubt I can do so in this state as I am, Your Grace." She told the Targaryen, before straightening to her full height.

Daenerys smiled. "As you are," she parroted, then eyed her closer. "I could have that seen to now, if you wish, my lady."

Arya shook her head, hair flopping down into her eyes. She was too tired to push it out of the way. "I am fin-"

"No, you're not." It was Gendry's rumbling voice by her ear.

Arya opened her mouth to protest, but his look was enough that she did not even bother.

"You've lost too much blood, m'lady. You're pale as -"

"Snow?" she offered, and for some reason it struck her as funny.

Gendry shook his head, blue eyes wary. "Not quite."

Aegon came up to them then, Jon Connington and Duck a few of his other men with him, and Arya watched curiously as he recognised Daenerys for his aunt.

But his eyes drifted to herself, surprise and anger rising in them. "What happened?" he asked, the authority in his tone rubbing her the wrong way.

Arya sighed, and too tired to control her words, drawled, "Your queen-aunt has finally landed in Westeros, Your Grace."

Aegon narrowed his violet eyes. "I did not mean that, and you know it." He nodded to Daenerys. "Well met, Aunt." He greeted in a much more patient tone.

 Daenerys glanced between them before she nodded back to Aegon. "Nephew." She gestured to Arya. "Might you get her seen to? There's a terrible gash upon her shoulder, and I doubt she'll be able to stand up much longer."

Arya thought she felt Gendry's hand tighten on her hip, but the world dipped into blackness before she came to once again. "I'll take her." Came the bastard knight's rumbling voice.

The look that Jon Connington had on his face at Gendry's words made her want to hit him, but she couldn't find her words or the strength to do so. Daenerys waved a hand at the Lord of Griffin's Roost, a scowl marring her delicate features. Lord Connington glanced quickly away.

To Gendry she said, "Take her inside the walls, there should be a few of my healers in there already. They'll tend to her."

Arya felt weightless, and realised as she was set down upon a rough cot that he'd been carrying her.

Gendry's hands were then replaced with cold, papery-thin ones, and someone tilted her head up enough to pour a sour-tasting liquid down her throat. Arya retched, her eyes flying open, but a warm hand held her mouth closed. "Drink it," Gendry told her. "It'll help with the pain." She was about to ask just what pain it'd help, but then she felt the fine needle pierce her skin, and gasped in surprise.

"It is better to have it cleaned and sewn now than later, my lady." An old woman's voice said from her shoulder, and a cool hand patted her right arm softly. The woman's tone was flavoured with the East, Astapor judging by the way her Es were twisted to sound more of an ay sound. "This way you'll have less chance of a rot setting in, and might not even carry a scar, should it heal proper." The milk of the poppy had set in, and Arya couldn't feel a thing, that was when she succumbed to the gentle hands of sleep.

_**-x-** _

Alayne didn't relish the snow that fell constantly now.

Though it was beautiful, it reminded her too much of Winterfell, and of her lady aunt, of what Petyr Baelish had done. Her hair was starting to grow through red once more, and it worried her to no end.

Lord Petyr had reassured her that she'd not need to dye it again if things went to plan. But, to Alayne, Lord Petyr Baelish's words mean nothing next to dirt, if she were being honest. Lies and trickery was what he was good at, she'd learned; and she'd learned it the hard way.

"Alayne!" Sweetrobbin's voice called to her from the small courtyard she was looking upon.

Alayne waved and smiled warmly at her cousin.

"Alayne, come down here and build snow castles with me!" his voice had yet to deepen into manhood, though, if his age was anything to go by; it should have. His fits were now far and few between, but Alayne knew Littlefinger's plans for her cousin. Robert wasn't going to be alive for much longer if she were to have the North, and the marriage that would give it to her. He couldn't be. And she would miss him, if only a little.

Alayne hugged her furs closer, dipping her chin into the collar so that her face managed to get some sort of warmth. Her mother and father's words, _her_ words rang clear and true then. Sansa Stark shuffled down the steps, murmuring, "Family, Duty, Honour. And _Winter is coming_."

_**-x-x-** _

_The men fled before her, scampering back to their tiny tents and stone walls. Her smaller cousins kept their heads down, but their eyes were bright and ready to hunt. The men called to each other like birds from their stone nests; a frightened tone that made her want to taste their blood and feel their bones crack beneath her jaws._

_The snow that fell and dusted her coat reminded her of when she was just a pup, when she was as tame as he sister had been. Of the girl. The girl was alive, she had come back to the land of winter and it brought happiness, this was the reason she had come so far south._ _Men were prey, dangerous when there were many, but still prey. But so were wolves, and though the she-wolf was the only one so far south, her littler cousins-when in great numbers-were as dangerous as herself. Men rained arrows down upon them from inside their stone walls, and a few of her cousins fell._ _She growled and retreated to lave her wounds in the woods._

_**-x-x-x-** _

 

Arya woke with a start.

The first thing she registered was that her shoulder ached and that she was not able to move it properly. The second being people, mainly men, were yelling about wolves.

 _Wolf dreams_. Arya thought as the dream of wolves came back to her. _This wasn't a dream. I warged_.

"Ah," said a man, a whimsical tone to his voice. "You are finally awake, my lady."

Arya blinked the drowsiness from her eyes and glared at Tyrion Lannister. "So it would seem." She muttered with a roll of her eyes.

The yelling outside continued, and if she'd been in any state to do so, Arya would have told them to shut up. "What in seven hells are they squalling about?" she asked and sat up gingerly. Tyrion eyed her a moment, judging if she'd be able enough to sit up on her own, until she gave him a look. Her shoulder twinged, and the need to scratch it and wince at the pain danced through her.

Tyrion sighed, before making a placating gesture. "As you wish." He hopped from his seat, waddled over to the side-desk and poured her water from a jug before handing it to her slowly. "Oh, and ah, wolves. From what I can tell," he sat back down and pursed his lips. "Lots of them at the gates, from the glimpse I got. Your bastard knight was down there, too."

Arya ignored that particular jab, and after she'd had her fill of water, asked, "How long was I asleep?"

Tyrion shrugged his miniature shoulders. "Three days? Maybe four," he said. "I wasn't with the soldiers, remember? I got here a day after you, so I'll go with four days it was you were asleep for."

Arya nodded, and realised that she wasn't wearing her armour, but a tunic that hung off her and a pair of tattered breeches. She vaguely remembered the healer slipping her out of it, and though she'd killed men and fought in battles and shouldn't have; Arya flushed at the thought. "Are the wolves still there?" she asked as she came to her feet unsteadily.

Tyrion pulled a face that said he very much disapproved of what she was doing. "My lady-" he started, but she was already making for the door.

She paused.

"Coming?" Was all she asked before slipping quickly out the door, despite not wearing any boots or warmer clothing. She needed to know if what she'd dreamed was real. The men generally moved from her path as she walked to the gates of Storm's End. Until Gendry spotted her.

"Just where do you think you're going, m'lady?" he asked, knowing full well what she was doing. Arya rolled her grey eyes to the heavens and continued stalking to the gates, Gendry falling into step behind her.

"I'll give you three guesses." She told him. Gendry would have looked intimidating to anyone else. But she was Arya Stark. Gendry cocked his head.

"There are wolves outside the walls, Arya. You can't just go for a morning stroll."

Arya smirked. "Do you not want to see real magic?" she asked. Gendry blinked, thrown at the change of subject.

"Pardon?" he asked, but she was already moving, still quicker than he and was at the gate before he turned fully around.

"It's better than Thoros' 'flame swords'." She told him and slipped out the gate with a grin.

Arya stepped carefully through the row of Targaryen-loyal soldiers, her bare soles still light on the dew-dropped grass despite her injury and found Aegon at the front, Daenerys at his side. Aegon looked surprised to see her up and about. "Lady Arya," he greeted, then turned back to the trees.

"What are you doing out here?" Arya asked, frowning.

Aegon snorted. "It should be I who is asking you that."

A scream, one that came from a man, sounded, and Arya whipped her head to look. A huge wolf, bigger than any horse she'd seen, had the man by the shoulder, fangs burying into flesh and tearing.

 _Nymeria_. A part of her chanted. _Nymeria, Nan_! Arya leant forward, and felt hands hold her back. She turned wildily on the men who held her. "Let me go!" she spat, and twisted savagely in their grip until they did. Arya turned back to the huge, grey direwolf. "Nymeria!" she called.

The she-wolf paused, dropped the man and eyed Arya curiously with liquid gold orbs.

Jon Connington snorted, his sword drawn. "Don't be foolish, girl." It was a warning, and if Arya had been anyone else, she just might have listened. Instead, Arya rolled her eyes like the child she oft claimed not to be.

"She's mine. Harm her and I'll kill you," she promised.

Connington's dark eyes narrowed. "Say that again, girl. I dare you."

"Nymeria, to me!" she cried instead.

Nymeria's tongue lolled from her mouth and she cocked her head to the side, changing angles as she eyed Arya.

Then, after a moment, she trotted over to her mistress as if she hadn't been wild longer than she'd ever been tamed.

The men scattered, drawing their swords, and Arya saw her direwolf cock her head at the commotion, gold eyes watching intently. Arya held a hand out to them. "Stop it." She commanded softly, the scared movement was exciting her.

The men stopped moving at her words.

Nymeria stopped a foot from her, the blood from her kills giving the air a metallic taste as Arya breathed it in. The direwolf whined, grey ears going back as she shoved her snout under Arya's ear. Though she felt the still-warm blood smear on her cheek and hair, Arya let out a giggle. The she-wolf stayed from Arya's left side, seeming to know of her injury, and Arya thought it strange how she trusted this wild, wild creature more than herself. Even now, after so long.

"Nymeria," Arya crooned softly, and Nymeria licked her from chin to hairline in response. Arya pulled a face and wiped the saliva from her face with the back of her sleeve, patting the wolf's cheek and scratching her under the jaw.

Nymeria hummed. Arya Stark turned to look over her shoulder, a grin plastered on her long face. The men each wore a mask of fear, and readiness to kill the wolf should she turn. Though, Arya noticed, Daenerys and Aegon's weren't as profound. "See," she said to Gendry who was looking on with awe, a small bemused smile upon his lips. "Did I not tell you my magic is better?"

Gendry chuckled. "You might have mentioned it, m'lady."

 

**_-x-x-x-x-_ **

 

"So she is like my dragons?" Dany asked as they sat and broke fast in Storm's End's great hall. Arya sat cross-legged in her seat and picked at her food despite the looks the septa would give her; it reminded Arya of her mother, which was both a welcome and rejected thought. Nymeria lounged at the foot of Arya's chair, ears pricked and body facing the archway into the hall.

Arya nodded, and threw a scrap to the she-wolf. "Mostly," she said. "Except, of course the flying and firebreathing."

Daenerys smiled. "Of course," she said. "But what of the lesser wolves still prowling the walls?"

Arya waved a hand dismissively, something that had Ser Barristan bristling. Arya vaguely remembered him, just barely, and she usually prided herself on the memory she had.

 _Though_ , she supposed. _I had much and more on my mind other than the Lion's Kingsguard_ , back then. "Without a pack alpha, or in this case a Direwolf, who has no fear of man, the wolves will simply disperse if given a little time."

Dany nodded to where Gendry stood off to the side, near the hearth. "I've heard talk that he is the usurper's bastard." She said the words in a casual way, but Arya could hear the underlying hatred there.

Arya copy her friend's attitude and shrugged. "One of the many he had, and one of the few left, my friend. He is a knight now, under my protection, so it'd please me if you didn't take his head for something his cunt of a father did."

Daenerys giggled, while the other people in the room didn't quite know how to react to Arya's statement. "I shan't, little wolf. You can have my trust in that."

Arya lifted her cup to her lips. "Tell me and please tell me true, for you know I'd fight for your cause; you wish to sit the Iron Throne, Your Grace?"

Dany paused and titled her head to the side, then shook her head. But Arya could tell when a person lied to her. "No. No, I do not want it. Even if I did, Aegon would come before me, and any children he manages to get on Arianne Martell, as it were."

Arya nodded and smiled demuredly, and even considered telling them of Jon, of the third head Rhaegar had wanted and gotten. Her bastard brother on the Wall.

Arya was so lost in her thoughts that she almost missed what Daenerys was saying. "I cannot bare children, living or dead, they die before they can even take. It has been this way since Rhaego." Daenerys shrugged her delicate shoulders. "I cannot carry on the line, and Aegon is the only other Targaryen left to do so. He might as well have the Throne for the children his wife will bear."

Arya nodded, and was about to tell the little queen of her brother, when Aegon walked in with Duck, Lord Connington and Haldon Halfmaster at his side. Nymeria's ears went back at the sight of Connington before Arya placed a calming hand on her she-wolf's head.

Aegon's indigo eyes found Arya's and he smiled and nodded his greeting before turning to his aunt. "Aunt," he greeted, and Dany nodded back uneasily. He continued. "I would like you to teach me how to ride a dragon."

Arya snorted. "Demanding thing, aren't you?"

Aegon grinned boyishly. "I am a Targaryen, and there are three dragons Daenerys Stormborn possesses. I only wish for one."

Daenerys held up a hand as Arya opened her mouth to retort, and came to her feet. The purples of her dress danced in the morning light, and swirled about her ankles, the leather Dothraki vest she wore over the top glinted gold and brown. "I shall help you, Aegon." Dany told him, and Aegon's smile widened. "But," she said. "Should you harm the dragon I give you, there won't be a hole deep enough for you to hide in, Your Grace." The threat, Arya could tell, wasn't empty and real anger shone there a moment before it flitted away.

Aegon frowned. "And how would one be able to harm a dragon?"

Arya came to her feet too, and Gendry came to her side. "If one was a giant." Arya said in a bland tone, and the Bastard of Hollow Hill quirked his mouth up in a half grin.

Aegon leaned against the table, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "There is no such thing as giants," he told her.

Arya felt her brows rise. "Yes there are," she argued. "Same as skinchangers and wargs and shadowcats. I should know, I am one or two of the three." Arya shrugged, and felt her shoulder protest such treatment. "Or you could just ask it of your brother on the Wall, I am sure he knows more than I on such matters."

Everyone in the room froze. Even quiet, warm Daenerys had been stilled into silence.

Aegon was the first to speak, and all that managed to work its way past his lips was, "What?"

Arya giggled like the lady she claimed not to be and chewed her bottom lip. _I cannot go back now_. _They expect something of me, and I… I have missed_ _Jon so much_. "Jon Snow, though his last name is debateable. He is my cousin, not my brother but yours, should you want him, of course." Her hand had come to rest on the hilt of her sword, of Needle. Mhaegar had given it back to her a day or so ago, after her the gash on her shoulder had healed enough that she could once again practice without it injuring her further.

Gendry had even made her new chainmail armour, one that fit her tightly enough, but left room for movement in her arms; it was light as well, meaning she'd be fast enough that she wouldn't be struck as she had been in the Battle of Breaker's Bay.

Aegon crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. "You are telling me that I have a brother in The Night's Watch?" his tone conveyed the fact that he was sceptical of her words so Arya pressed.

"Your half-brother that Prince Rhaegar got on Lyanna Stark just before Robert's Rebellion." She corrected him lightly, but she knew that considering all else that had happened, she was treading on thin ice with this. "Lyanna made my father promise to keep Jon hidden. Robert wanted all Targaryens killed the moment Aerys fell. Jon was safer being kept as Eddard's own bastard son than a stable boy orphan or by the name Blackfyre."

Arya sucked in a breath and felt tears sting at her eyes as she recalled the conversation she and Howland Reed had shared. The only other man who'd been in The Tower of Joy and the only one alive to speak of it. Jon had been a newborn babe, he'd not remember a lick of it, and Eddard had been murdered before he could tell a soul. Lord Howland had asked if she'd heard from Bran or his children Meera and Jojen. She hadn't, or course, and after a few days, he'd come to her and told her the truth of Robert's Rebellion. Jon Snow wasn't her bastard brother, though if he were actually a bastard Howland did not know. Jon Snow- Targaryen- was her cousin by Lyanna Stark, the stolen sister of Brandon that Robert Baratheon had loved and wanted so much that he wouldn't let her run off with someone she actually loved.

The weirwood tree in the Gods' Wood of Greywater Watch had sung whispered songs to her, she remembered. _Dragons_ , it had cajoled. _Fire… ice… winter… dragons_... And it had sounded so much like Bran, like her father, that Arya had fled the Gods' Wood and subsequently the crannogman's holdfast, only to change her face once more and service The Silver Prince come again.

"And the dragon needs three heads," she recited. She saw Jon Connington stiffen at that, just a slight tensing of his shoulders, but it was enough. Arya had been taught to go for a person's weaknesses, and habits did not die as easily as some made out. "A problem, Lord Connington? From what I understand, you and the Prince were _so_ close. Surely you would have had heard Rhaegar Targaryen mention the saying more than once." And, to her surprise, Connington smiled.

"Indeed, Little She-wolf. I've heard it before." He shrugged his shoulders, and Arya noticed that with one hand, the gloves came well past his elbows and disappeared under his armour. _Strange,_ she thought. _I don't remember anyone mentioning a deformity_. "It was the prophecy Aerys Targaryen was told by his father, Aegon V, who thought that The Prince That Was Promised would come from the line of Aerys and Rhaella and so had his son married to Rhaella."

Arya smirked. "And his shall be A Song of Ice and Fire."

Rolly nodded. "King Aegon."

Arya shook her head, and tilted it to the side as she eyed the Prince-King. "No. If anyone had the right to that particular song, it'd be Jon. He is ice and fire made flesh, not Aegon." Connington looked ready to draw his sword against her, but Arya held up her hands. "I am not saying that Aegon Targaryen VI does not have a claim to the throne. I truly believe he does, and I will support him, if he in turn supports my claim to the North. I simply do not believe that he is Azor Ahai come again."

Aegon shared a look with Daenerys, and the little woman nodded. Aegon turned his eyes back onto Arya and stilled his adopted father's hand. "If the dragon's think him a Targaryen by blood, if not by name, then I'll support your claim, my lady." A smile danced at the corners of the silver dragon's mouth. "I've always wanted to see the Wall."


	8. Chapter 8

"I am placing a ridiculously large amount of trust in you, Your Grace."

Aegon grinned and swung up into the handmade saddle that sat upon Rhaegal's back. The dragon swivelled it's jaded head to glare at Arya, and she could hear the blood pounding by her ears, hear her heart racing like a frightened rabbit's. She heard Tyrion's laugh from the horses, and flicked her eyes over to him. He was laughing at her, she knew, but he also had eyes only for Tysha and Lanna; and that gave her some happiness to know she'd given The Imp that.

Lanna smiled sweetly at her, before turning to speak with her mother.

Aegon was still watching her. Arya turned her eyes back on him, and let the glare settle there. "I'll protect you," he said with a cheeky grin. His hand came out, and she took it hesitantly. Aegon pulled her up and behind himself, and she had to rest her hands on his hips to stay seated.

"I like this not," she muttered as she got comfortable in the saddle and strapped in her legs. "Besides, just how could you protect me when you can barely seat yourself on this beast?"

Aegon shrugged. "At least I do not fear him."

Arya bristled. "I am not afraid," she bit out stubbornly. Her heart fluttered a little when he pat her knee gently, and it confused her. It was a comforting gesture, no doubt, and it should not have affected her so. But why did it?

Rhaegal shifted his wings, restless. The movement made Arya's heart jump to her throat and her fingers tightened on Aegon's furs. "My lady?" he asked gently, but she shook her head.

"Wolves aren't meant to fly, Your Grace." She looked to the ground, still a good ten feet below from where she sat upon the dragon's back. "It'd be absurd if we did. Mayhaps it would be better if I rode to The Wall, instead of flew."

Aegon swivelled around in the saddle until he could look at her. "Do you fear heights, my lady?"

Arya scowled and shook her head. "No." She fidgeted with the edge of her wolf-fur cloak. "Your Grace, I do not fear heights. I used to climb Winterfell's walls with my brother, Bran."

Aegon's features turned bemused. "You fear something, else wise you would not care."

Arya Stark rolled her eyes. "I do not trust the temperament of this creature. I'd trust a horse or my wolf moreso than a dragon, _Your_ _Grace_."

She saw Aegon's hands tighten on the front of the saddle, on the reins that kept the dragon in place, and instinctively, her own tightened on his waist.

" _Fly_." He commanded in High Valyrian.

Rhaegal's massive wings lifted to the skies and he let out an ear-splitting screech. Arya buried her face into Aegon's back, let herself feel as her stomach sunk to her toes when the dragon left the earth, let herself hear the constant _thumping_ of it's wings against nothing to go higher.

When she plucked up enough courage to open her eyes again, at first all she could see was Aegon and _green_.

Then, she quickly realised that Aegon only tiny compared to the wide expanse of sky they were in, and that the green was simply Rhaegal's wings stretched out. Arya heard a dragon's call over the howling of the wind, and with her chin still resting on the King's back, turned her head to look.

It was Daenerys astride Baelrion the Black Dread come again, her silver-blonde hair whipping behind her as much as Arya suspected her own was.

Drogon was so large that he made his brother below him, Viserion, look like a kitten playing at being a lion. The white dragon searched for her atop Rhaegal, as if he could tell she was thinking of him and cried loud enough for Arya to hear.

 _I see you._ Arya thought back.

That was the reason Arya had chosen to ride with Aegon; Rhaegal wasn't nearly as big as Drogon either, and wasn't as mean tempered. But the beast beneath her was still too large, too wild and out of her control that she didn't want to be _anywhere_ near it.

Arya could feel Aegon's silent laughter against her cheek. _Shut up_ , she told him silently. The wind was too loud for him to be able to hear any insults she might give him, so instead she only settled deeper against him, her chin resting in the cleft where his neck met his shoulders. It was cold all the way up here, and Arya could barely keep her eyes open, the wind was blowing that strong-but that was why Daenerys had told her to wear warmer clothing, she supposed. Not only for the Wall, but for the trip there.

They'd stopped back at Harrenhal, and started again that morning, but this time Arya was not as frightened of Rhaegal; who regarded her with still-jaded-interest.

It felt like hours before Arya even thought to look down.

And the dragons were slowing down.

Arya could see The Eyrie, and the Vale that surrounded it. "Can we drop in for a visit?" she asked half-jokingly, braving to let go of his waist and point to the stone fortress with one hand. Aegon did not answer her, and she thought that mayhaps he'd not heard; but then the dragon did the last thing she expected. It dove.

Arya was suddenly very grateful that Aegon's saddle had been made for two, and that her own legs were strapped in as well, preventing her from falling out of the sky. But, while he was laughing in front of her, Arya was screaming in breathless half-laughter at the feeling of falling. Though mostly, she thought, it was fear that ran through her veins like torrents at The Trident, fear that made her squeal like a child.

"Fuucckk!" she hooted, and the dragon beneath her roared back.

The soldiers at the Bloody Gate cowed at the sight of them, though some fired upon them. The jade serpent easily evaded the arrows, and though it took a few tries, Rhaegal found purchase on the side of the castle itself.

Arya was not pleased, hanging on to Aegon for dear life. "What are you doing?" she bit out angrily to Aegon, who simply shrugged in return.

"He needs to rest, and the mountain paths up here are much too small for him to land safely. Wait a moment and I'll let you down." Was the king's answer. Arya was certain that she was going to hit him.

The dragon took off again, and the world tilted as he spun away from The Eyrie's walls and out into open air. The dragon twisted, his left wing coming very high and close to his body, while the other tilted downwards; and so that was how they fell.

Arya did not scream as she admittedly had before, because she was expecting it, in a way. But she did tighten her grip on Aegon Targaryen. When the dragon stopped moving enough that Arya could see things clearly, he'd perched himself damn near at their front door. But even then, there was not enough room for Rhaegal to place his wing-arms on the ground, she saw.

Drogon and Viserion flew overhead, crying to their stationary brother. Daenerys was trying to find a place to land, but Drogon was the largest of her dragons, and the odds of getting a safe spot were about as high as finding a virgin whore at Happy Port.

Not very likely.

Aegon shifted in front of her, to glance back at her. "Go on, I'll be in soon."

Arya paused, but shook herself from the apprehension and unbuckled her legs. "I have to jump?" she asked incredulously.

Aegon grinned. "So fearful all of a sudden, my lady,"

"I am not 'fearful', _Your_ _Grace_. I could very well break my legs from this height."

The dragon shifted, lowered himself as far as his body would go, and small jade flames rose from his nostrils.

"Thank you." Arya told him, and slipped from the beast's back. She bounded under Rhaegal's long neck and barged the doors of The Eyrie open with her shoulders.

 

**_-x-_ **

 

"Ah, The Eyrie." He heard Tyrion say, sarcasm lacing his words. "Lovely place."

Gendry didn't pay him much mind, after all, the dragons twisting about in the skies had finally stopped, and were still, and that had more of his attention than the bored drawling tone of The Imp.

The green one was perched on the side of The Eyrie, which meant that Arya was inside, talking with some lord or another. Gendry doubted he would be able to see her if she was still astride the beast anyway.

She commanded the Brotherhood now, and she'd told them to stay at the foot of The Bloody gate, so there they'd stay. The men that had been guarding the bloody thing had been killed quickly by a few of Anguy's arrows, the rest by Gendry's own hammer.

The Freed Men that Arya had brought to Westeros, along with The Unsullied and dothraki _khalasar_ Daenerys Targaryen had at her disposal meant that a company of their size did not go unnoticed easily.

The fact that they'd made it to here without real resistance was pure luck, Harwin kept saying.

"Are you certain we can't go with her?" Gendry said to no one in particular.

Lem Lemoncloak chuckled and settled against a stone further. "Why? Miss your _lady_ _love_?"

Anguy hooted. "Don't let _her_ hear that, she's more like than not to cut open your throat. She's already broke your nose before, Lem."

Gendry agreed whole-heartedly with that. He also knew that she could a whole lot worse than that, but decided not to voice that either.

 

**_-x-x-_ **

 

Alayne watched from her seat betwixt Littlefinger and Robin as the dark-haired woman stalked up the short flight of stairs. It was when she bowed mockingly before Lord Baelish that familiarity struck Sansa as hard as any blow could. _I know your face_ , she thought, the breath having been knocked out of her. Though her face wasn't quite as horsey anymore, she having grown into her features, her face was that of their dead father's. Of Uncle Benjen and Jon Snow. Of a Stark. _Arya_?

Sweet Robbin did not know what to make of her, and so found the entire thing annoying and a waste of his time. "Alayne, I want to go back outside, to the courtyard, and play in the snow!"

Sansa's attention was taken from her sister look-alike and placed upon the little Vale lord. "Shh… shh, my lord." Sansa crooned, hands settling in his dark hair and tucking the longish strands behind his ears. "My Sweet Robbin, just for now we must stay here, and then we can play in the snow for the rest of the day if you wish it."

She was too busy calming him down, frightened he'd have another fit, that she did not catch Petyr's first words to the woman. "- killed them, my lady. What is it you are here for, might I ask?"

The woman smiled sweetly, and Sansa knew there was no doubt in the world this girl was her sister. "I do believe you know, Lord Baelish." Arya told him with the same sweetness in her voice, she shrugged her skinny shoulders. Two other men stepped up behind her, the one who's hair was half red, half white grinned a smile that sent shivers down Sansa's spine.

Littlefinger stroked his goatee, eyes judging the situation before him in silence. "Might I ask for your name, my good lady?"

Arya looked up from the piece of knotted hair she was inspecting, and her steely-grey eyes narrowed. "I do not particularly like you, I will not hide that fact. But I have gone by many, many names, my lord. At this moment though, I would like to think that Arya Stark suits me best."

It was hushed in the room then, but whispers had started at that.

Petyr's green-grey eyes narrowed on Arya's thin form, and Sansa could have sworn fear shone there, but it was gone in the next instant and he turned to her, eyes still on Arya's form. "I knew you weren't dead, my lady. Nor married to that Bastard of Bolton." He finally flicked his eyes to Sansa, and more lies tripped off his tongue. "Alayne, my dear. Tend to the good lady Arya."

Sansa rose and pried the little lord's fingers loose from her gown. "Of course, father." She shuffled a foot from where her little sister stood and bowed quickly. "If you would follow me, my lady."

Sansa could feel the eyes of the court on her form.

Sansa felt a fool, bowing before her younger sister, who for the better lack of a word was a stranger to her now. Her two shadows followed, one silent, and one Sansa thought was as handsome as Willas almost.

In the false light of the torches the man's hair seemed to glow. _Silver_ , Sansa thought incredulously. _A Targaryen?_

He seemed to feel her eyes on him and glanced over with deep, purple eyes. "So this is Lady Arya's elder sister?" he asked, and Sansa almost missed the elbow her sister threw him.

Already she felt old habits rising, to tell Arya to stop acting like a wilding, but held her tongue and smiled politely to him. The man did not seem to mind, either; as if this were a game the two played regularly.

Then thin-but muscled-arms were around her in a hug, one which Sansa returned with a fierceness she'd not known she had held. Arya's dark hair was thicker than it had been when they were children, lighter too it seemed, from years in the sun. Her once milk-pale skin was a tanner colour though, one which her companions' shared, and it made her grey, grey eyes startling in contrast.

"I missed you," her little sister whimpered. Sansa froze in the embrace. _Is she crying? This woman who walks as if she owns the world?_ Arya had seemed in control as she spoke down to Littlefinger, but as she clung to Sansa as if her life demanded it, Sansa remembered that this woman couldn't have been more than six-and-ten.

That all passed within a beat of her heart, and Sansa registered just what those three words meant coming from Arya Stark. _I am sorry. I love you. I am back, and I will never leave again_. Arya Stark, Arya 'Horseface' who had spat on her as a child to run off with Bran to climb the walls of Winterfell or to play with stolen bows and swords with Jon Snow in the Godswood.

Sansa carded her thin fingers through Arya's hair. "As I missed you, little sister." Sansa returned, and she noticed the concerned look that flashed across the silver-blonde man's face at her sister's break of composure.

When Arya pulled back, there were no traces of tears in her Stark-grey eyes and her arms fell easily to her sides. "Sansa, this is Aegon Targaryen." She introduced the man to her left. Then, as if just remembering something, she rolled her eyes and sighed. " _King_ Aegon Targaryen the sixth of his name," she corrected herself after a beat.

Aegon nodded his silver head to Sansa, a pleasant smile on his face. "My lady,"

**_-x-x-x-_ **

Arya watched in amusement as her sweet-tempered sister floundered about to form a proper curtsy. "Your Grace," Sansa returned to Aegon's greeting, and Arya felt a smirk pull at her mouth.

"Sansa," Arya requested her attention softly. "I came here with a purpose, sweet sister. Let me tell you of it."

Sansa's eyes were just as sharp as they'd been all those years ago, as blue and keen as their mother's, though Sansa's hair was stained with a muddy-brown dye now. "Yes?"

Arya shared a look with Aegon and he nodded. He was allowing her to officially declare the Starks the Kings of Winter once more, and for that, Arya's respect of Aegon Targaryen grew. Arya linked her fingers together before her in an uncharacteristically feminine gesture. "I would declare you Queen in the North and Lady of Winterfell."

A breath passed.

And then, suddenly, Sansa was a blur of blue-grey skirts and creamy skin and muddy hair. Her face was inches from Arya's, and she flinched away from the sudden movement. "You can't!" Sansa declared, delicate hands on Arya's shoulders. "I… I would wed Willas Tyrell, if I were to be anything, I would rather be a… a Queen of Highgarden." She sucked in a breath and Arya stayed still and silent. "You must understand, Arya, Lord Baelish has _only_ those plans for me, has _had_ only those plans for me… and if you should give me the throne, _win_ it for me, _he_ will win. And I do not wish for that."

Arya felt her anger and the sting of the rejection flash across her face before she composed herself once more. "I suppose finding Bran will not be so hard…" she trailed off as she thought her words over. But Bran _would_ be hard to find in the wild that was beyond the Wall, harder than even Rickon, she supposed.

Sansa shook her head fiercely. "No," she said. "If the throne was to pass to anyone, it should be you, Arya. Gods know you have the men and the mean, do it." Sansa tucked a stray hair away from her little sister's face. "You have the look of the North, too. The men will rally to you, I can see it now. You've always been wild and fierce, little sister, and for that I suppose I might have been a little jealous when we were younger, but now I see that it was because you would do the things Mother had taught into me were bad."

Arya came back to her first argument. "But that is why you would make a better Queen than I, Sansa." Arya reasoned. "You know the game, and you can play it well. You have all the courtly mannerisms that I do not; and honestly never will."

Sansa sighed, and it struck Arya as queer that they were arguing over who became a Queen of where, but at the same time, it was much the same as any other fight they'd had when they were younger.

Sansa scowled, but then it was gone in the next instant; replaced with calm. "Well, I have no wish to rule the North, sister. It is all yours."

Anger coursed through Arya then, an anger that directed itself at her sister for backing down when the time came and it was called upon her to do her duty. Arya bit her lip. "Tyrells? Is that the way of it?" she demanded.

Sansa's soft face flashed with anger. "I love him-"

"A Lannister dog." Arya snorted with a dismissive flick of her wrist.

Sansa's Tully eyes shone murder. "How dare-"

"I dare because I am now Queen in the North, sweet sister. I dare because when I came here-and I did not have to- I did not simply come here to chat about our past; I came to put you in our brother's seat. Our _family's_ seat." Arya sighed and she tossed her head imperiously at her words, her eyes narrowed in challenge. "But you would rather piss it all up some wall for a _Tyrell_."

Aegon, it seemed, did not know how to react to her sudden outburst, and if Arya had been in a better mood, she might have smiled. But he did know better than to speak against her, or touch her.

For a time, of course.

"Arya-" he started, spider-like hands reaching for her; but Arya did not heed him as she stalked from their presence.

Mhaegar fell into step at her side, quiet as a shadow and swift as a fox.


	9. The Dreadfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so really, I have no excuse as to why this took so long. The only thing I can think of is lack of Muse and laziness. Mostly life, though.
> 
> And honestly, I don't like this chapter very much. So it might be redone in the near future.  
> Oh, and also: A very big thank you to all who reviewed. I didn't expect to get so many positive reviews from this.   
> Again, thank you.

 

Arya was fitting a modelled saddle to Nymeria when Jon Snow stalked up to her. He stopped a few feet from her, wary of Nymeria's low growls, but still irked enough to glare at the she-wolf's mistress.

Arya spoke first. "I am going no matter how much you nag, Jon."

"Arya-"

"Not hearing a lick of it."

Jon's mouth bowed. "You're not going, Arya. You are one of the last Starks left to us, if you die…"

Arya stopped tightening the leather straps and rounded on her cousin, the snow crunching beneath her boots. " _Exactly_. I _am_ one of the last Starks, and the Boltens took our home from us, Jon." Her anger was making Nymeria skittish of him. Arya placed a calming hand on her direwolf. "I am going to take theirs from them, too," she said in an eerily calm tone. "Then, after, I will take back Winterfell and seek out Rickon and then Bran if possible." She turned back to the saddle. "But I doubt I will be able to find my brother." She cut herself off and continued with the saddle.

It was a dismissal, and they both knew it. But still Jon did not move, much like the other arguments they'd had as children. Jon was the rocks on the shore and she the waves.

Arya sighed, rested her forehead on the direwolf's side. "I am making for the Dreadfort. If you wish to join me and my men, I will not object." She glanced behind her, to Jon's disapproving face. "But if you try to stop me, Jon," she moved over to him until she stood toe-to-toe with him. "Though I bear love for you… If you get in my way, you'll wish that you hadn't." _Do not be too honourable. Do not stop me_ _from killing them_. She did not say that, but from the look he gave her; she knew that she did not have to.

Jon Snow didn't question her like his brother so often did, he didn't just blindly follow her orders like Gendry did, either; and she knew that their argument was far from over.

Arya flicked her eyes away from his to over his shoulder; Aegon Targaryen stood at the stairs leading to The Last Hearth. Jon turned and followed her eyes.

"Aegon," he greeted with a smile and Arya turned away, mouth turned down. The stupid, irrational jealousy licking at her again. The king trotted over to them, that ever-present grin on his face rubbing her the wrong way.

Nymeria growled.

"But _he_ stays," Arya bit out. "We can't afford for _His Grace_ to be harmed, now can we?"

Jon shifted, uncomfortable. "Arya…"

Arya sniffed. "No. He _stays_. And we leave today, soon, because the break in the weather will not last forever, Jon." With that, she bounced off the snow and swung up into the saddle. Through the bond she shared with Nymeria, she told the she-wolf where they were headed. Nymeria whined, shifted her stance beneath Arya.

Aegon-who usually took Arya's stand-offish attitude in stride- began to irk at her tone.

"I am _king_ ," he told her, childish arrogance leaking easily into his tone. " _You_ do not get to decide when and where I fight my battles."

Arya bristled. _You are no king of mine_ , she thought unkindly, and very nearly spoke it. "And I am a queen, as you all seem so fond of forgetting." She snapped instead. "And this is not your battle, Aegon, it is mine and my siblings; anything but yours."

Aegon's violet eyes flashed. "I only wish to _help_ -"

"I do not need it, nor do I want it." With that, she turned the direwolf away and out the gates; her Freedmen following a few paces behind.

 

-x-

 

Sansa always seemed to know when Willas was visiting. Almost as certain as Mya was when little Robert Arryn was going to have a fit; though they were getting fewer and further between. Sansa had kept an especially keen eye on her littler cousin for fear that Littlefinger would bring him to harm.

Though in truth, she held no true affection for Sweet Robin. But if he died it would give Petyr the opportunity to place Sansa as queen, and she did not want that. Not anymore. Not for a long, long time.

Sansa Stark knew that when people looked at Lord Willas, they saw only a cripple; but Sansa could make out the power in his stride, the intelligence in his green gaze. Loved the wit he used to make Littlefinger look stupid without ever having to say as such.

Willas Tyrell had been having negotiations with Littlefinger for nearly five moons now, and Sansa found that she spent every free hour with the heir to High Garden.

He hadn't known who she was to begin with, when he first started showing interest in her; a bastard by the name of Alayne Stone. And when they'd shared their first kiss, Sansa had told him of her true name, of Littlefinger's intentions with her and her title.

Willas had offered to take her away then, to make her his wife and queen of the Reach; a smarter woman would have snatched at the opportunity to leave Lord Baelish's clutches. But not many people claimed Sansa Stark to be smart.

She was waiting for the right time to slip away and take little Robert with her; because though she loathed her cousin on most any day, he was still that-her cousin and kin. Something that she did not have much left of. He would not do the same for her, Sansa _knew_ that; she was going to do it for her own means. If she had learned anything from Littlefinger, Margaery Tyrell or even what little Cersei Lannister had been willing to offer-knowingly or not- it was to plot, and do it quickly but thoroughly. This was what Sansa had become quite good at.

Willas and she were closed away in his chambers, speaking in hushed tones about why he had visited this time, when he offered freedom to her again. "I will take you away from this cage, my lady. Just speak the words."

And again, Sansa considered her love's words with a heavy heart, chewing her lip in a way she remembered Arya doing. "I cannot…" she started, but he pulled her close.

"Marry me, Sansa Stark."

Sansa shook her head. "I can't. Not yet."

 

-x-

 

_The woman drove her sword through the man's throat with such an ease that made Bran feel that she'd done this many times before. She spun away and ducked under the bastard knight's arm._

_The Silver Prince was fighting by their side, anger bubbling up along with protectiveness for the reckless she-wolf at his side. The knight's tasked with protecting the Silver Prince were lost in the thick of battle, leaving only the She-Wolf and bastard by his side._

_When the lord of the Flayed Man finally bent the knee-asking and begging forgiveness- the She-Wolf grinned a terrible smile and told him that the time for pardons had passed._

_And she called for a block._

 

Bran woke with a start; sweat upon his brow and he felt awfully tired. Meera was already up and watching him with wide, dark eyes.

"Bran?" she asked tentatively, crawling over to him. She sat there a while, waiting for Bran to fully come from the dream. When he did, she said, "What is it you saw?"

Jojen was sleeping still; small snorts working their way from his throat. Bran watched the constant rise and fall of his chest for a moment. It was rare that the crannogman had a fitless sleep. "I saw my sister."

Meera perked up, a smile rising. "The Lady Sansa?" she asked.

Bran shook his head. "I… I think it was Arya." He told the cannogwoman. "But she was sacking the Dreadfort. A Targaryen was there too."

"But there are no dragons left in this world, my lord." Meera argued softly. "How could it be?" Bran found it funny that Meera only ask about the Silver Prince; that she did not doubt his judgement in knowing who his sister was, despite all that had happened. He thought, not for the first time in years, how she would react to he saying that he loved her, before pushing it away as a childish notion.

Bran shook his shaggy head once more. "I don't know, Meera. But what I do know is that in the vision I _knew_ it was Arya, and not just some random woman with the Stark look."

Meera nodded and adjusted the furs around him. "Still nothing of Rickon or Osha?"

Bran closed his eyes and shook his head once more. "No. Nothing."

Summer whined and pressed his thickly-furred body closer to Bran's. Bran's hands played absently along his wolf's neckline.

Jojen's quiet tone ghosted to them from over the small fire that Fern had allowed them to build. "Rickon will be fine, I am sure of it. Osha cares for him; she would not let harm come to a Prince of Winterfell." He murmured.

Both Bran and Meera gave a small start at him; he'd been sleeping soundly not a moment before and they had not raised their voices above a whisper.

Bran settled against the giant wolf at his side. "Not physically, no." He said softly, Tully-blue eyes staring hard into the flames. "But what happened to us will leave no small amount of scars."

He pressed closer to Summer before settling into sleep again. And Bran dreamed nothing but dreams filled with howls that made him feel a sorrow he had only known once before.

 

-x-

 

The snow had begun to fall thickly, and Roose Bolten's blood ran down Arya's newly made sword, thick like ruby droplets to the ground; staining the pureness with taint.

A pity that it wasn't Ice that cleaved his head from his shoulders,

Arya thought objectively. It would make for a better song. And it'd have been easier to slice between the bone.

Gendry was being tended to by one of maesters in some tent or in the Dreadfort itself; he had taken a good blow to his leg and arm during the end of the battle. Arya did not bother with trying to find him, she did, however, seek out Aegon.

They would need to talk on how to further their conquest south; they had no need to bother with The Iron Isles. The Ironborn would bicker amongst themselves as to whom was King for at least a few months yet, now that Roose was dead and Ramsay was soon to be.

"My Lady." Aegon Targaryen was lounging on the seat of the Boltens, ever the conqueror, and his dark eyes were on her form.

"My Lord." Arya returned and watched the spark in his eyes at her small defiance. Not calling him 'Your Grace' put him at a lower ranking; equal to her. She did it often enough, but his reaction was always the same. Arya glanced about the room; it was vast and elaborately furnished-not doubt from the pay Roose Bolten got from Tywin Lannister.

"A Lannister always pays his debts," she muttered as she eyed the throne the Silver Prince sat upon.

Aegon frowned at her, brow furrowing in a way that reminded her of Jon. "Pardon?" Arya gestured with her chin to the seat Aegon took up. "It is weirwood. Weirwood Trees do not burn, My Lord. They are usually the only left after a forest fire in the North." She paused and ran a hand over the back of it; it was carved beautifully with wolves and lions and stags, a crow or two here and there.

But it was the face that drew her attention first; it looked to be weeping on one half and then smiling upon the other. "Queer," she murmured.

Aegon half turned from his reclining position, head cocked in question. "I suppose it is expensive then?" Arya nodded, a quick quirk of her head. "Why would you even wonder as such, My Lord?" she asked suspiciously. He wouldn't sell something as rich as this, would he? _But_ , she thought with a sneer, _this is Aegon. No more truly needs to be said_.

Aegon grinned at her, a smile she admitted begrudgingly, that was starting to grow on her. "Why, to see it's worth. If it's worth enough, mayhaps I can ask Lord Connington to find a seller somewhere; we could make use of the gold."

Arya scowled at him, then simply because she could, said, "It's weirwood. And it's north of The Neck, so it's mine."

Aegon barked out a laugh. "Is it now?" he asked.

Arya was unruffled by his challenge. "You'll have no need of it if you have the Iron Throne, correct?"

Aegon muttered something unintelligible, then as he rose to his feet, "Fine. Keep the damned chair."

Arya's lips quirked up at the sides without her consent, and it unsettled her. Arya turned away from him. "You have my most _gracious_ thanks, Your Grace." Sarcasm leaked into her tone, and Aegon noticed; a small smirk appearing in his features.

"You are very much welcome, _My Lady_." He returned in much the same tone.

**Author's Note:**

> 'I'm coming home I'm coming home  
> Tell the world I'm coming home  
> Let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday  
> I know my kingdom awaits and they've forgiven my mistakes  
> I'm coming home, I'm coming home  
> Tell the world that I'm coming'~ Coming Home, Pt. II. The Buried Sessions of Skylar Grey.


End file.
